


Clean Cuts

by bitter_crimson (Krim)



Category: Dexter - Fandom
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-07-18
Updated: 2009-07-18
Packaged: 2018-10-17 10:54:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 527
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10592523
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Krim/pseuds/bitter_crimson





	

Chainsaws are messy creatures.

Brian knows this firsthand, of course. He'd tried using a chainsaw, once, when he was very young. He had already drained the blood, but somehow he could still see it going everywhere, hitting him in the face, coating the walls, flooding the floor. He was drowning in it. It made him breathe very hard and he had to stop, had to sit down. He thought idly that dead bodies did not scream, did not cry out to you to close your eyes when they were being cut apart. Hands that had once held you, stroked your hair, tucked you into bed at night, were no longer part of a person when they became separated from their body, falling with a thud and a splash to the metal floor. Bodies weren't alive, once they had lost that much blood.

In any case, Brian prefers his precise tools to chainsaws. He keeps them very clean and neat, cuts Deborah's sandwich in halves with one of them. She takes the offered plate and rolls her eyes at him, says, "My mother used to cut my sandwich up like that." Brian looks at her elbow on the counter and tenses his grip on the knife, drawing a neat line across her arm with his eyes.

"Did she, now?" Brian leans across to catch Deborah's lips in a kiss.

She makes a protesting noise at him through her mouth of sandwich and pushes him away. "Hey, I'm eating, here!" she says playfully before she has fully finished chewing and swallowing. Her eyes twinkle and a light flush rises in her cheeks. Brian thinks about the blood filling delicate capillaries just under her skin.

"Eat faster," he says, coming around the counter to draw up behind her. He drops kisses on her neck, shoulders, and each one is a cut. He carves smoothly through all that tissue, cutting away one arm, then the next, and it's completely clean, no blood at all. No mess.

Deborah giggles and hunches in on herself, tilting her head back to glare at him. "I have to go to work," she says.

"But not for another half hour, right?" Brian pulls her flush against him and feels the moment she gives in, even before she twists around to kiss him.

When he presses her down into the sheets, he makes more cuts with his mind, slicing off her feet, calves, knees, thighs. Her breathing speeds up and her pupils are dilated as they cling to each other, and he thrusts deeply into her body. Fingers sliced off one by one, and his movements become more helpless, erratic moans escaping him unrehearsed.

Deborah's head is thrown back and she's clinging to the sheets, cursing and moving against his body, and just like every time, right before he reaches climax, Brian loses control. And it's not the clean, bloodless knives anymore; it's the chainsaw, ripping into flesh, tearing away arms and legs, sawing head away from body, and there's blood, so much blood, soaking the sheets, saturating Brian's pores, going everywhere.

She comes with a gasp, arching up against him. He comes ripping her to pieces.


End file.
